


The Future?

by charlotte123456789



Series: Harry Potter One-Shots [27]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Future, Gen, Reading, Time Travel, Visions, change the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotte123456789/pseuds/charlotte123456789
Summary: He didn't know what this place was, but this information...
Series: Harry Potter One-Shots [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157993
Kudos: 5





	The Future?

He stared at the room around him.

It was different. Not so different that it was entirely unrecognisable, but just different enough to tell him that something was wrong.

The green hangings on the walls were just slightly darker, the rug was no longer present on the floor, and the paintings on the walls showed an array of different faces that he had never seen before.

Another giveaway was that he was the sole person in the room.

Although he hadn’t been paying attention, the background noise of other students could be heard emanating around him.

This sudden silence was deafening.

What had happened? Where was he? Was it some ploy to get him to show weakness?

He didn’t know, but he would not reveal anything.

He was a Slytherin. He would _not_ be lacking any cunning at this moment.

He muttered a spell quietly under his breath, a disillusionment charm, before moving to the doorway to explore. 

He wandered for a while; the corridors so different, yet exactly the same. Only the decorations had changed.

Nobody else was around.

Was he the only person here? Where even _was_ here? How did he get here?

So many questions and so few answers.

He continued his wandering, his feet guiding him until he realized the path he was on. To the library it was.

The room smelt the same. Dusty, ancient. Full of secrets locked away, waiting for just the right person to open the pages and reveal the wonders of the universe. So much information just hidden away that he could find.

He didn’t love many things in his life. But the library may just be one of the things he did.

He couldn’t spend his time browsing through the vast array of books though, not today. He needed the archives section. Surely they must still be present and give some guidance as to where he was?

He breathed a sigh of relief as he found them exactly where they usually were. The papers arranged in chronological order. From 50 BC right up until… 2000.

He stared at the papers. It couldn’t be. It was 1945. What he had here… was the _future…_ _in his hands_.

He read through them all for what must have been hours. Every article, no matter how dull it looked, had been read at least once. Pages upon pages of information: some detailed, some just a note or two with no clear meaning.

It was captivating, shocking at times, heartbreaking and illuminating.

He read through the defeat of Grindelwald that would be happening in the coming months, how Dumbledore would be accepted as headmaster, the rise of a new war, so many deaths, so much violence. He was finally coming to the end when he caught sight of his name.

He was mentioned. Not as some hero or accomplished teacher. But as the leader of the Dark Side, the most feared Voldemort who had tormented Wizarding Britain for years before his death at the hands of a _Harry Potter_.

The name he had created in a terrorised fit at the height of the bombing. Nothing except a different persona to help him believe that he could survive the worst of what was to come, a figment of his imagination, somebody strong and invincible. _Nothing_ more than childhood comfort. _Never_ a true name to take.

But what he was looking at now - his life. _His life_ would account to nothing but a story that people told their kids at night to scare them into going to bed. Years of schooling, making connections, grovelling to get the best experiences would all be for nought.

It couldn’t be. It had to be a lie. It had to be a joke. It just _couldn’t_ be true.

He would not have it.

He sat back in the chair he had retired to with the papers. What had happened? Where had all his plans gone wrong? Or was this his chance? This weird intermediary place was a type of purgatory for him to repent now and turn around in his ways. _Whatever_ it was had opened his eyes.

He knew what he wanted, and this future was not it.

He was Tom Marvolo Riddle. _Not_ some crazed old man called Voldemort seeking immortality.

Upon that thought, the world suddenly turned shimmery with an odd sheen to it. The colours distorted and merged as one, all the muted tones becoming brighter and more vibrant whereas the once vibrant colours became a shadow of themselves. He stayed seated as the world turned kaleidoscopic, warping and twisting. 

After what felt to be an eternity, it stopped. No slow descent into normality, one moment a storm raging, the next a serene image of calmness. It appeared he was still in the library, the warmth emanating around the room more as to what he was used to; however, no papers now surrounded him, just the remains of a few pieces of scattered parchment, left over from the last student sat here writing out their work.

He breathed in deeply, the same smell no matter where he was apparently. But the calm was interrupted as soon as he exhaled. A fifth-year student rounded the bookshelf and exclaimed, “I’ve found him! He’s over here!”

He was about to start berating them for shouting in the library, as it wasn’t appropriate behaviour at all, until he saw Dippet round the corner.

He stayed silent. He knew Dippet was fond of him. But for him to leave his tower at such a late time? He wondered what the other students had said occurred.

“Mister Riddle, are you quite alright? We were notified of your disappearance yesterday evening and have been searching for your whereabouts since.”

He thought through his answer carefully, “Thank you, sir, for your worry. But I believe I am alright, _although_ I don’t quite remember how I got here.” There, let Dumbledore try and figure out an answer to that. He was sure Dumbledore would still try and find a way to misconstrue it against him.

He watched as Dippet frowned. “Well then, we’ll go along to the Hospital Wing just to be sure everything’s alright.” 

He just nodded along. Too caught up in his thoughts to really be active in conversation, he knew it was out of character, but he supposed small allowances could be made, and at this time, it could easily be explained away.

They made him stay in the Hospital Wing overnight, no clear reason given other than to ensure he didn’t suddenly disappear again. He managed to overhear the full story whilst he was there feigning sleep, a seventh-year student had been messing with their potions, switching ingredients, changing up the order they were added. Not something that an under-experienced student should be attempting on an obscure fortune-telling potion recipe. He was glad to find out they were being suitably punished, no chance for Dumbledore to claim any childish tomfoolery in the matter.

He used his time wisely, thinking through his next moves. He would not let his dark thoughts tarnish his life this time. He knew what his future looked like if he continued this way and he did not like it. However, it was clear that Dumbledore would never let him teach at his one true home, Hogwarts, as long as he was a part of the staff. He would have to rethink, replan. But he would come to achieve his dream no matter what Dumbledore believed, whether that meant he had to go abroad and teach at a prestigious school or if he had to start his own.

He had seen what the future held for him and he did not like it. He was not Voldemort, some instance, power-hungry creature — he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he would be a greater teacher than Dumbledore could ever dream of.


End file.
